


lovesick fools

by softtofustew



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Sexual Humor, basically two bros are ridiculously codependent on each other but wont admit it, mariah carey makes an appearance (or something), some alcohol is drunk, the domesticity in this fic is wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softtofustew/pseuds/softtofustew
Summary: Changbin squints at the words on the screen. “Jesus.20-MINUTE ARM WORKOUT WITH THE MOST RIPPED DUDE OF YOUR DREAMS? What if we get accused of clickbait?”“What clickbait?” Jisung counters. He reaches his arm out to squeeze Changbin’s tricep, in a very, very bro-like manner. “No clickbait here, that’s all I know.”Or the one where unemployment leads to Jisung's ludicrous idea of setting up a home workout YouTube channel starring his bro-est bro in existence, all the while coping with a couple of unintentional developing feelings, watching shitty dramas on their crusty couch, and so,somuch more.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 41
Kudos: 291





	lovesick fools

**Author's Note:**

> a few things to take note of before reading:  
> [1] there is absolutely no goal to this fic. i swear if this story seems completely everywhere and nowhere at the same time, that was intentional, and i duly apologise for that lol  
> [2] i came up with this idea mid-workout, so i devote the existence of this fic to pamela reif and her 10-minute ab workout  
> [3] gawd there is a severe lack of oblivious bros!binsung so i am here to supply (even if this is probably the dumbest fic i've ever written in all my 17-and-a-half-years-of-living)  
> [4] warnings: a little beer is drunk, there's some sexual humour, and you might cringe or cry at some parts. you have been warned
> 
> would recommend listening to [lovesick](https://open.spotify.com/track/3BaxuFlbs3jpHPN2okC57e?si=of_jQ9L-TEua_gOLis4EXg) by midnight fusic for some vibes! happy new year from me to you, and i hope you enjoy this hot mess of a fic

If he could describe himself in three words, Han Jisung would say this: Handsome. Genius.

“Unemployed!” Jisung wails. He shoves the key into the doorknob, almost slamming his knuckle against the metal in the process. He jiggles the key in the keyhole while planting his face against the front door. “I’m fucking _unemployed_! No job! No pay! No bonus! U-N-E-M-P-L-O-Y-E-D! UNEMPLOYED!”

Behind him, Changbin sighs. “Open the damned door, Jisung-ah,” he grumbles. When Jisung begins to cry, Changbin rolls his eyes, snatches the key from him and shoves the front door open. “Come on now, we can cry in the kitchen. Use your tears to wash our dishes.”

“Crying is for babies!” Jisung sobs. Tears run down his cheeks in twin trails, probably messing up the eyeliner he’d painstakingly pulled off this morning. Fuck. “And I’m not a baby!”

“Mhm,” Changbin hums noncommittally. He hauls up the cardboard box on the linoleum floor, and Jisung feels his heart shattering again. Peeking out from under the flaps is their shared potted plant, Lacey. Memories of them bringing Lacey to the set and showing her off proudly to their director flood Jisung’s mind, and a fresh new wave of tears crashes over him.

It takes two and a half minutes with an offer of instant ramyun to coax Jisung back into their apartment. “Can you believe how ugly this is gonna look on my resume?” he whines. He lays his head down on their grimey dining table (man, how long has it been since they’ve rubbed it down? Jisung decides against letting his cheek smush against leftover germs and forces his head up) “Han Jisung, 25. Aspiring screenwriter. Graduated from the Korean Academy of Film Arts. Fired before he could even shoot his shot.”

The aroma of spicy ramyun wafts in the air, which makes Jisung perk up. Changbin sets two bowls down onto the table and slides into his chair, sitting directly opposite from his housemate. “At least you wrote the script,” he mutters gruffly. “Production didn’t even start, which means I didn’t get a start on _anything_.”

Jisung shuffles over to the overhead counters, rummaging around until he finds two pairs of wooden chopsticks, the ones they’d stocked up from too many takeaway dinners over the past few months. He returns to his seat, dropping a pair into Changbin’s open palm. “This is tragic, hyung,” Jisung sighs. “The script was so promising. All that effort flushed right down the drain.”

“Then again, production would’ve been too risky,” Changbin points out. He picks up the measly fishcake in his bowl and sets it in Jisung’s ramyun. “You know this virus is getting out of hand.”

“I can’t believe something that’s barely even considered a living thing is wrecking my entire life,” Jisung whimpers. He snatches up the fishcake and pops it into his mouth. “And we didn’t even get any redundancy pay. What are we going to do, hyung?”

Changbin blinks. “What do you mean?” he asks slowly.

Unsurprised by his friend’s lack of awareness at how knee-deep in shit they are, Jisung rolls his eyes. “What do you think, hyung? We’re exiled from our families-”

“-Not _totally_. I still visit my parents on the weekends-”

“-We have no job, and no job means no pay, and no pay means no more instant ramyun!” Jisung concludes with a sigh.

As surreptitiously as he can, Changbin leans over the table and hisses, “I think we should be more concerned with the monthly rental, Sungie.”

Jisung waves a hand dismissively in the air. “Yeah, yeah. There’s the monthly rental, the electricity bill, the water bill- Oh, by the way, we forgot to pay last month’s bill, so we don’t have any hot water now-”

“-Shit, _Jisung_ , why didn’t you tell me-”

“-Because I was too busy working on that fucking script!” Jisung bursts. He slurps on his noodles angrily, soup dripping unceremoniously from his lips once he’s done. The corner of his lip curls into a snarl. “I spent every hour of my life slaving over that script, I didn’t catch a wink of sleep, I edited and re-edited and _re_ -re-edited that goddamned menace, only to get it shut down!”

Changbin leans over to the kitchen counter and retrieves the tissue box. He snatches up a tissue sheet and dabs it across Jisung’s lips to mop up his mess. “Right. Sorry. It was a great script, you know-”

“-The absolute fucking best, you mean,” Jisung corrects. He quirks an eyebrow at his friend. “You told me that yourself. And you were telling me about all the great shots that your team could’ve taken with the script.”

“No, stop, don’t remind me,” Changbin sighs. “It’ll be less painful if you don’t bring it up.”

“The scene where they fly across the skies, cutting to the part where they do a little loop-de-loop when they reach the landing-”

“-Stop, please, eat your food,” Changbin whispers. His voice is strained. His face is contorted into a painful expression. “Please, for the love of all that’s good, _eat_.”

And Jisung gladly does, as gladly as being unemployed he can be.

When the pandemic had first hit, their director had thought it would be okay to give the green light for the pre-production of the most promising scripts of the century (if Jisung could say so himself) — _Flight or Fight_ , an action drama featuring two superheroes who were enemies by day, allies by night.

The moment Jisung had his hands on the project, he found himself absorbed by the story. He would spend hours on end video calling the other scriptwriters on his team, researching supernatural elements he could use in the story, and even drawing superhero outfits to get himself in the mood. Even if Changbin had thought the drawings were bad (“I graduated with a degree in Film Studies, not Art!” he’d protested, growling as his friend laughed away at his stickman art), that had been the highlight of Jisung’s year.

And then some people gathered for a festival or something, and the pandemic exploded in South Korea. Fucking great.

Once he’s done wolfing down his ramyun, he sets the bowl into their overflowing sink. “You’re the last one to finish,” Jisung deadpans, “so you’re washing.”

There’s a screech of chair legs scraping against the floor, and within seconds, Changbin’s shoving his way to the sink. “No way. I did the washing last week!”

“You mean two weeks ago,” Jisung retorts. “Look at this, hyung; there’s that bowl with the blackbean sauce sitting there, and that’s definitely from the _jjajamyeon_ we had last last Sunday.”

“Oh, you remember _that_ , but not the laundry that you were supposed to send down yesterday night?” Changbin accuses.

Jisung makes a hasty grab for the rubber gloves hanging off of the hook, and slaps them across Changbin’s chest. “Selective memory,” he singsongs. He turns on his heel to dart off, leaving Changbin groaning aloud from behind him. Still, as Jisung traipses into his bedroom, he hears the sound of the tap water flowing.

He forces himself to smile a little. Even if the world were ending, even if they’d never get their hot showers back, Jisung admits he’s glad to still have Changbin by his side.

✷✷✷

Jisung likes to think. He thinks a lot. His parents would disagree (“How could you apply to film school? Were you not thinking AT ALL?!”) whilst Changbin would most certainly side with him. (“Jisung, I swear to fucking hell, you better STOP THINKING and CHOOSE a movie for us to watch already.”)

Jisung thinks a lot. And he thinks, if fate doesn’t exist, then it wouldn’t have brought him and Changbin together at a time when he needed someone the most.

Back when he was twenty and sported platinum blonde hair (bleached all the way down to the roots, baby! He still wonders how he didn’t get permanent scalp damage from _that_ tragedy), he was pretty much unofficially exiled from home and forced to pursue his film degree all by himself. Armed with two hours of sleep after a restless night of apartment hunting, an iced Americano and his laptop bag, Jisung trudged across the campus foyer.

If he received a couple of looks from passers-by, he chalked it up to his good looks, and certainly not his neon graphic tee tucked into his worn sweatpants. He hadn’t done the laundry in a week, and he totally pinned the blame on his lack of housing right now.

As he turned a sharp corner, Jisung felt his face get flattened by a brick wall. He screeched, tumbled backwards, and landed with a sharp pain on his backside. His coffee slipped out of his hand and crash landed against the floor, spilling everywhere. He screamed a rather ear-piercing “Fuck!” that had everyone within his two-hundred-meter radius whip their heads in the direction of his voice. Double fuck.

“Holy shit,” the brick wall spoke. The brick wall _spoke_. Jisung definitely needed to catch some sleep. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay-” Jisung paused. His eyes slid up a pair of jeans, a white collared shirt, and stopped at the face blinking back at him. He gulped at the size of the dude’s shoulders, because holy shit, they were probably twice the length of Jisung’s. Who even owns shoulders that big?

The next thing that came out of his mouth sounded utterly and completely stupid. “You’re not a wall.”

The guy widened his eyes into the shape of saucers. “Wow, I-” He smothered a laugh. “-I’m not a wall. Wait, are you flirting with me? Should I be flattered?”

Jisung narrowed his eyes at the other. “You should be guilty as hell right now,” he seethed. “For starters, you should be helping me up.”

“Right, right, sorry,” the stranger chuckled. He held out a hand, and woah. With the way he yanked Jisung back up to his feet, Jisung felt like his arm almost popped right out of its socket. “I’m sorry about that, seriously. And about the coffee, too.”

When Jisung looked back at him, the sun shimmered down on the stranger’s features. His eyes were sharply shaped, narrowing at the corners, but his irises were a warm brown. The corner of his lips tugged up into a small smile. _So it wasn’t a brick wall, after all,_ the dazed part of his brain murmured.

At the same time, the more conscious part of his brain whispered _Wait, I thought we established that already. Say your name! Say your name!_

“You’re not a wall,” Jisung repeated again.

Gee, human interaction. Jisung’s favourite activity of the century.

The stranger’s smile only widened. “Trying to convince yourself?” he teased. “Honestly, that’s cool, dude. I’m glad someone noticed my progress over the summer.”

He stuck out his hand in an offer of a handshake. A handshake? Since when did university students in the 21st century offer _handshakes_? This guy must’ve been born in the 1900s or something. “Right,” Jisung nods. He limply slips his hand into the handshake, and he feels his whole body jerk from the intensity of the handshake.

“I’m Changbin,” the stranger supplied. “I’m a first-year here. For Film Studies.”

Jisung’s jaw dropped. He let his hand fall back to his side, while trying not to let the after-effects of the pain show on his face. “You’re here for Film Studies, too? Me too!” he replied. His brain fails to process that they’re standing on the campus of the Korean Academy of Film Arts, and instead continues on its train wreck to hell. “I’m Jisung. Han. I mean, Sung JiHan. Han Jisung?”

Changbin looked downright mortified. “You don’t know your own name?” he asked, voice lowered to a hush.

“No! Han Jisung!” he corrected. Fuck brain-to-mouth connection, Jisung’s Internet connection was stronger than this, and he hadn’t paid for his data plan in weeks. “Han Jisung. My name. Yes.”

Even though his face still looked stricken with shock, Changbin was kind enough to nod slowly. “Right. Um, are you heading for the 10am Intro to Film Studies class?”

“Yeah, why?”

Changbin gestured towards the coffee leaking between the cracks of the tiled pavement. “There’s about half an hour until the lecture. We could head over to the campus cafe and I’ll buy you a coffee?”

And that’s how they ended up as best friends. Well, the long story short, that is. After they stumbled into the cafe and Jisung decided on an elaborate caffe macchiato (full cream, extra sugar, double shot, caramel drizzle upside down, with whipped cream and a cherry on top), and after Changbin emptied half his wallet to pay for the drink, and after they sprinted across the campus because they hadn’t realised their lecture was being held at the furthest wing, and after they gatecrashed the wrong lecture before actually arriving in the right lecture hall twenty minutes late, Jisung knew he’d found a best friend in Seo Changbin.

And if _that_ wasn’t fate, Jisung doesn’t know what is.

✷✷✷

When Jisung is jerked awake from his sleep for perhaps the nth time ever, he has his idea. His eureka moment. And his knight in shining armour, ready to whisk him away from the pitfalls of their broken air-conditioner, is snoring away at the other end of the room.

“Changbin!” he hisses. He clambers out of his bed, almost tripping over the bedsheets, and sweeps across the floor to the bed pressed against the wall. “Changbin-hyung, wake up! I’ve got it!”

He takes up Changbin’s Munchlax-shaped night light and shines it directly in his friend’s face. Changbin groans, turning over and away from the blinding light. “Go away, Jisung,” he grumbles. “It’s only 4:09 in the morning.”

Jisung frowns. “Stop spewing nonsense, hyung and listen to me-” When he sets the night light down onto the bedside table, though, his eyes land on the face of his digital clock. “It’s _actually_ 4:09? What the everloving fuck kind of sorcery do you possess, hyung?”

“An accurate body clock, and a dumbass roommate who won’t let me sleep,” Changbin complained. His back faced Jisung defiantly. He even wrapped himself into a cocoon, despite the sweltering heat, all curled up under the swarm of blankets. “Go back to sleep, Jisung.”

Frustrated, Jisung stomps down on his foot. “No way, hyung. Not when I have the most brilliant idea sitting around idly in my head!”

A muffled voice rises from under the blankets. “That’s what you said last month when you tried to fix our coffee table, Jisung-ah.”

“And it was a brilliant idea!-”

“-All the table legs cracked and broke,” Changbin interrupted. “And now our ‘coffee table’ is just my dumbbells holding up the tabletop.”

At this, Jisung’s eyes light up. “Exactly, hyung!” he squeals. “We don’t even have to invest in anything for this — we have your camera, your tripod, your dumbbells, and the yoga mat, and my brains!”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Changbin reluctantly turns over. His hair flops over his forehead in a bird’s nest. His eyelids are sluggish, refusing to open. “What about my yoga mat?”

“Hyung.” Jisung decidedly throws his leg over Changbin’s hip, straddling him before gripping his shoulders. This seems to throw Changbin off, because he squeaks under Jisung’s weight with his mouth agape. Jisung doesn’t seem to notice, though, and continues babbling away. “Hyung, we can use our expertise, and utilise it to the fullest! Remember what Professor Choi said in our second-year Cinematography class?”

Baffled, Changbin answers, “ _Stop sleeping in my fucking class_?”

“No.” Jisung shakes his head. He musters up his best impression of Professor Choi’s deep, thunderous voice, and booms, “ _Utility. Make the best use of what we have now_.”

“And where does my yoga mat come into the picture?”

A wicked grin splays across Jisung’s lips. “Buckle up, hyung. We’re going to be filming home workout videos.”

✷✷✷

Three hours of sleep and half a cup of coffee later, Changbin hands his answer over in the form of a plate of sliced sausages: NO.

“What?!” Jisung yelps. He glares down at the sausage platter, before snapping his head up to face Changbin. “Hyung, think about it. The pandemic has hit the human population. Only a pandemic will convince everyone that _Well, shit, I’m unfit_ , and then they’ll be scouring the Internet for quick ways to become fit and healthy, especially since the gyms are closed! It’s a profitable business venture!”

“And naive, too,” Changbin sighs. He plonks down onto his seat and slides a few scrambled eggs onto Jisung’s plate. “Those workout videos you see on YouTube are amateur as fuck, Jisung-ah. Plus, there’s no way we’re going to gain enough traction for us to live off of that.”

Jisung grins. “That’s why I did some research while you were asleep,” he says. He whips out his notebook, the spine almost falling out, and flicks it open to the page he’d dog-eared. “Basically, in order to get monetized on YouTube, we need to gain at least 1,000 subscribers, and also 4,000 hours worth of watch time.”

When he gazes up, he notices Changbin’s lower lip trembling. “You know what? I think I’m going to see if the GS25 downtown is offering a job-”

“-Look, I know it’s gonna be hard,” Jisung interrupts. “But let’s look at it this way, hyung: we have enough savings to cover our rental for the next four months. We also have enough to pay our electricity and water; we just inconveniently forgot to pay them on time. Let’s say we churn out a few videos, send them to our friends to watch and force them to subscribe _and_ make them promote the channel on their social media pages. You’ll be the next workout guru in no time, hyung!”

The fork in Changbin’s hand falls to his plate. “Me?! What about you?”

Jisung sighs. “If you haven’t noticed, I haven’t worked out in months,” he admits. “Of course, I’m definitely the better-looking one between the both of us-” Changbin snorts at this, “-but if we need to get people to buy into this shit, we need someone who actually looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

“So that’s me,” Changbin blinks. “Huh.”

“Oh, you’re finally catching up!” Jisung croons. He drags a finger over his eye to wipe away a fake tear. “Hyung, I knew you weren’t that dense!”

“I didn’t even say yes,” Changbin points out. “You’re just putting words in my mouth.”

Ignoring him, Jisung flips through a few more pages and lands on the mindmap he’d drawn. He twists the notebook around and slides it across the table. “And I dug a little deeper. If we stretch our video out to at least ten minutes long, then we can add ads in between the video. By adding more ads, we’ll earn more from them, too. Plus, you’ve got great stamina, hyung, so I’m sure we could even do a livestream at some point.”

Changbin grimaces. “Who’d want to watch a video with so many ads?” he quizzes.

“Think, hyung,” Jisung says. “Let’s say you’re an unfit guy-”

“-Wow, you’re very funny, Hannie-ah-”

“-Let’s say _I’m_ an unfit guy,” Jisung huffs, “and I decide to get in shape. I hate doing exercise, so I’m very reluctant to do so. Someone on YouTube leads me through a 15-minute ab workout or something, and by the time I finish the first workout, I’m panting like a crazy thirsty hyena.”

Changbin nods. “Okay, but I don’t get how-”

“-And then, I see an ad rolling!” Jisung cries. “I whoop for joy and land on my ass and let myself die for a little until the 30-second ad is over!”

His roommate looks at him weirdly. “The takeaway is…?”

“The takeaway is, you could place a thousand ads in a workout video, and no one would complain,” Jisung finishes. He flashes Changbin a smile, pearly white teeth and all.

He knows Changbin is a weak, weak man, and he knows he’s _this_ close to convincing Changbin once and for all. He feels the hope in his chest deflating, though, when Changbin adds, “What do I get out of all this? Besides the supposedly potential money we rake in from the videos, and that’s only _if_ we get monetized.”

A gazillion ideas race through Jisung’s ideas. Which one will be the lottery ticket to Changbin’s heart? he wonders. He scours through his thoughts. A lifetime supply of fried chicken? A Playstation 5? A rack for hanging their clothes to dry instead of flopping them on Changbin’s dumbbells?

On the verge of giving up, Jisung offers, “My eternal and undying love for you?”

He suspects that Changbin will roar with laughter, or flick a balled-up tissue paper at him. Instead, Changbin grits his teeth and glances down at his plate. A strained “Fine” hisses from between his teeth, and it takes every fibre in Jisung’s body not to launch himself at his bestest friend in the world and hug him so tight he’ll burst — after all, they have a video to film.

✷✷✷

“Okay, plan of action.” Jisung clasps his hands together, stretches his arms out. When the joints in his elbows crack, the both of them wince. “Let’s set up our filming spot.”

For the past hour, the both of them had been binge-watching workout videos. From Pamela Reif to Popsugar Fitness, Jisung clicked on several workout videos and compiled them into a playlist to rewatch later, whilst Changbin critiqued each and every single video they watched. “Their posture’s all wrong,” he grunted. “If you do that, you’re bound to get an ache in your lower back the next day.”

“See?” Jisung had replied, slapping a reassuring hand against his friend’s back. “You’re already on your way to becoming a true workout guru!”

After they went through a couple of workout ideas, Jisung decided to take a break from brainstorming and do some grunt work instead. They’d agreed to move Changbin’s bed and press it up against Jisung’s, leaving an entire length of wall empty. What left Jisung flabbergasted, though, was the pile of dust that had collected under the bed.

“Oh, that’s where my comb went!” Changbin chirps. He retrieves the once-white comb, now gathering dust and hair. “I lost it, like, a year ago.”

“Goodness gracious,” Jisung mumbles. He shoves his sleeves up to his shoulders and sighs. “Let’s get to work cleaning this, then.”

They sweep away every dust bunny and collect the other trinkets that Changbin had lost along the way: a half-empty container of hair gel, an earring, and a Bluetooth speaker (how??). Jisung even scrubs the wall with a wet cloth, eager to keep it nice and clean as the background for their video.

Once they move the bedside table out of the way and roll out the yoga mat, Jisung feels proud of their work. “It already looks so professional,” he grins. Changbin nods silently in agreement.

The next step is, of course, to dress the part. After some careful deliberation, Jisung blurts, “Maybe you should go shirtless.”

A red flush creeps up to Changbin’s cheeks. “What? _No_ ,” he disputes. “I’m still working on the abs part, you know. I don’t think anyone would want to watch a self-proclaimed fitness guru without a defined six-pack.”

“What?” Jisung snorts. He reaches out to pinch Changbin’s bicep. “You’ve got the arms, hyung. I’m sure that’s the deal breaker for everyone.”

Changbin clicks his tongue in annoyance, before turning his head away. Sighing, Jisung taps his pen against his notebook. “Okay, if you’re not going shirtless, then maybe you should pair a tank top with gym shorts. Maybe go for an iconic look? That’d make you stand out.”

“Stand out? Are you asking me to dye my hair or something?” Changbin pulls a face.

“Hm…” Jisung purses his lips together in deep thought. “I was actually thinking of a tattoo on your bicep, but I guess a new hair colour works too!”

He pretends not to hear Changbin’s squawks of protest as he scrolls through the hair dye colours available online. “Do you wanna go platinum blonde, hyung? Or ash grey? Oh, _fuck_ , what if you dyed your hair _pink_? No one can resist a pink-haired chunk of a hunk.”

“A… what?” Changbin can only stare helplessly at Jisung, hoping he’d get the message to move on from the tub of pink hair dye blinking back at them in all its pixelated glory.

Jisung wrinkles his nose. “Okay, maybe pink is overdoing it. How about firetruck red?”

Beside him, Changbin sinks to the floor. “How about we just film this video first, see how many views we get from here, and _then_ decide on the hair colour?” he whispers. “You know what happened when I bleached my hair the last time.”

“Right,” Jisung nods. “Your hair fell out like crazy. It was, like, watching a Siberian cat shed fur.”

“Gee, thanks,” Changbin deadpans. “Makes me feel sooooo ready to step in front of the camera.”

As the fan overhead clicks rhythmically, warm air blowing across their sweaty faces, Jisung decides to comb through his friend’s wardrobe. He throws the doors open to reveal a colourful array of tank tops, sweatshirts and pants. “Look, we need you to tempt people to watch you. I’ve still got my amazeballs editing skills from college-”

“-Yes, because I should trust someone who still uses the term _amazeballs_ -”

“-And we can pull together a thumbnail that screams, like, thirst trap. Makes people motivated to work out,” Jisung declares. He wrangles out a hanger and holds it up for Changbin to see.

He watches Changbin’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “God, Jisung, I can’t fit that anymore.”

The tank top he’s holding up like a prized trophy is clearly a size or two too small for Changbin, probably something he’d worn when he was nineteen or twenty. Jisung grins. “I don’t see a problem in that,” he states plainly. “It’ll accentuate your body. Make your muscles pop or something.”

Changbin squeezes his eyes shut, makes a quick prayer, then opens his eyes again. “Jisung, I’m being serious when I say I can’t fit that. I haven’t been able to fit that since third year.”

“I’ll be on stand-by with the scissors if it gets trapped halfway through,” Jisung says, flinging the tank top across the room for Changbin to clumsily catch it. “Now do your magic! Bibidee bobbidi do!”

With reluctance tracing his every movement, Changbin sighs and yanks at the graphic tee he’s wearing. And, God, it’d be a lie if Jisung said he turned around instantly to scan his friend’s wardrobe for gym shorts without checking him out first. He watches the muscles in his arms ripple and undulate fluidly. His stomach looks soft and supple to the touch, the faint outline of his abdominal muscles beginning to show.

Something akin to nervousness buzzes under Jisung’s skin, and he rips his gaze away from his friend. “Anyways, what sort of gym shorts do you usually wear? Or should we go for some track pants? You feel like showing some skin, or nah?”

“I don’t know.” A strangled _hrk!_ resounds from behind Jisung. “I prefer- oh, this mothertrucking piece of shit- track pants!”

Jisung sifts through the hangers, scanning the different track pants. They’re mostly black, the only stark difference being the designs running down the length of the fabric. He eventually settles on a pair with a neon pink stripe stitched on the sides, and swivels around. “How about this pair-”

He cuts himself off when his eyes land on Changbin. The latter looks absolutely rumpled, hair messy as he struggles to stand up straight. The tank top strains terribly against his body, and Changbin can barely move his arms. “Yeah, well, that’s my favourite pair. Also, a little help here?”

After five minutes of Changbin struggling out of the too-small tank top, it gets stuck in the middle of wrangling it off of his head. As a last resort, Jisung has to conduct an urgent search for their scissors, before carefully dragging the blade across the entire length of the shirt and snipping it into half.

“Oh, fuck,” Changbin gasps. “I couldn’t _breathe_ in that thing.”

The fabric flutters to the floor, completely ruined. Jisung frowns at it. “I knew you bulked up, but I didn’t know you _bulked up_ ,” he explains.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jisung bends over to pick up the shirt and hold it up for Changbin to see. “It means, why the hell are you still carrying out shirts you obviously can’t wear anymore?”

Stunned, Changbin raises his hands up in surrender. “Before you accuse me of being a hoarder, I’m not a hoarder! I just like keeping things of sentimental value!”

“That’s literally the Oxford Dictionary definition of a hoarder,” Jisung huffs. “Great. Just grab the tightest piece of clothing that you can still fit while I set up the camera.”

Whilst Changbin makes a huge fuss searching through his closet, Jisung shuffles over to the cardboard box they’d brought home from the set yesterday. Inside lies Lacey, their prized dragon tree that Jisung had bought back when they’d first moved into their apartment, an old clapboard, and Changbin’s camera equipment bag.

He carefully unfolds the tripod, then flips the camera bag open to reveal Changbin’s equipment. He hears a frantic squeak, and turns his head up to see Changbin’s panicked face glaring down at him. “Do you even know how to use it?” he hisses.

“Duh,” Jisung drawls. “I got a degree in Film Studies, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, and you specialised in Scriptwriting,” Changbin protests. “Put Miss Strelitzia down right this instance. You know she costs half of my bank savings.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, but decides to cave in. “What kind of name is Strelitza?” he mutters under his breath.

As soon as Changbin’s done picking an outfit for himself, he saunters over to the camera equipment and sets it up. He begins showing Jisung the ropes, giving a demonstration of how to rotate it on the tripod, panning it out and in, and focusing on the subject. “Make sure the camera shows all of me,” Changbin finishes. “And if I switch from the floor exercise to a standing one, make sure you know when to zoom it out.”

“Sheesh, I know this shit,” Jisung groans. “Anyways, which exercise are we doing first?”

Changbin glazes over the open notebook spread out on their conjoined beds. “You said to appeal to a wide audience, right?” he says. “How about we go for a 15-minute HIIT?”

“Sure,” Jisung nods, pretending he understands what a HIIT stands for.

As if he can read the other’s mind, Changbin glances up with a small smile. “It stands for high intensity interval training, kiddo.”

He earns himself a thwack on the back. “I knew that! Now get your ass moving.”

The both of them move in tandem, coursing through the outline of the workout and preparing the timer to count Changbin through the 30-second exercises. When Jisung returns with a bottle of water for Changbin, he catches the latter already stretching his arms on the yoga mat. “Someone’s eager to start,” he teases.

Surprised, Changbin glimpses up. He narrows his eyes at Jisung. “I’m eager to prove to you that this whole video thing isn’t going to work,” he retorts.

Jisung sighs in faux sympathy as he plops down on the edge of the bed, steadying the tripod between his legs. “Sure, sure. I can assure you, this plan will work.”

Changbin frowns. “Bet.”

“Oh!” A smirk forms on Jisung’s lips. They haven’t placed any bets for a long time now. The last bet they’d had was whether or not their mutual friends, Seungmin and Minho, would ever get past their weird sexual tension and finally confess their undying love for each other. Being the ever-so-romantic wingman, Jisung managed to score himself ₩30,000 after he and Changbin had accidentally walked in on the both of them making out like there was no tomorrow last December. “Bet.”

“₩40,000,” Changbin spits. “And we’re betting to see that this video won’t reach a thousand views by next week.”

“Fine,” Jisung relents. “Let’s up it to ₩45,000.”

With a burst of laughter, Changbin shakes his head. “Don’t act cocky now, Sungie-ah. But since you’re so full of yourself, let’s push it to ₩50,000.”

“It’s on.”

And it is. Jisung settles comfortably behind the camera and stares at his friend through the lens. He waits for Changbin to shake out his arms and legs, before he plasters a ridiculously fake grin across his face. “Uh, hi. My name’s Seo Changbin-”

“-Cut!” Jisung shrieks. He peers up from the camera with an arched eyebrow. “Dude, you sounded like you were a humpback whale giving birth.”

Changbin sighs. “Thank you for the boost of confidence, Sungie.”

“Just act natural,” Jisung suggests. “Loosen up a little. Your shoulders are up to your ears right now.”

He watches Changbin shift his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “You know how much I hate being in front of the camera,” he grumbles. “I’m always the one _behind_ the lens, not in front of it.”

Jisung feels his heart soften a little. “Aw, Changbinnie,” he teases lightly. “There’s nothing to be nervous about! It’s just me, Miss Strelotza-”

“-It’s Strelitzia, as in _Strelitzia nicolai_ , the plant species-”

“-Yes, plant nerd, I got the message,” Jisung interrupts. “It’s just me, your camera, and Lacey staring at you. Nothing weird about that. Besides, you work out in the living room all the time.”

“Yeah,” Changbin affirms. “But you don’t usually… stare at me like that.”

Realisation dawns upon Jisung. “Ohhhh,” he drones. “Oh, Changbin, if only you’d told me you were into voyeurism-”

“-I do _not_ have a voyeurism kink!” Changbin screeches. He looks absolutely horrified. “You know what? Fuck it. Let’s just get on with this. I’ll act natural, for real.”

Jisung smiles, and leans back into the lens. “On it.”

Admittedly, it _is_ a little weird to see Changbin through the camera lens whilst he does a short introduction and briefs the imaginary audience about the workout he’ll be doing. For all the five years he’s known Changbin, he’s only ever seen him gripping the camera in his hands, focusing on the subject before him through the viewfinder.

Now, with Jisung gazing through the glass, it seems like Changbin looks… untouchable. Unreal. In a good way.

 _In a good way?_ part of Jisung’s brain echoes. _The hell does that mean?_

“Okay, so let’s start the timer and get moving.”

That’s Jisung’s cue to press the timer on his phone. He snaps himself out of his daze and hurriedly raises his notebook up in the air, showing off the first exercise of the workout. He gazes at Changbin as his friend nods and dives head-first into the exercise.

It’s true. He hardly ever watches Changbin work out, even when he’s panting like a crazed dog in the middle of their living room or slumped across the coffee table in a puddle of sweat, mostly because Jisung is so used to it. Watching Changbin now, though, stirs something different in Jisung’s mind.

He adjusts the viewfinder carefully, his eyes glazing down Changbin’s eyes, his nose, his chin. They had decided to do a silent workout, adding background music to the clip and letting Changbin work his way wordlessly through the entire video. His mouth hangs open as he takes deep breaths, chest rising up and down in heaves.

For the rest of the filming, Changbin moves easily through each exercise. He doesn’t even pause for a break, leaving the water bottle forgotten on the floor. He’s surprisingly agile, precise, unlike the fumbling clumsiness Jisung is accustomed to see. In an instance, he’s reminded of last week’s incident, The Great Toilet Crisis of District Apartments, when Changbin had slipped on his bar of soap and landed on his ass in the bathroom so loud their neighbour downstairs rushed up to check for any trace of a murder scene. This graceful human being before his eyes is so unlike the norm that Jisung is used to.

“Jisung!” Changbin hisses. He’s panting heavily now, glaring at Jisung as he continues on with his jumping jacks. “What’s the next exercise?”

“Oh!” Jisung scans the notebook. His eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Uh, what’s a burpee?”

“Great, thanks!” The timer rings at the 30th second, and by the next second, Changbin’s crouching down to the floor.

Baffled, Jisung watches as his friend demonstrates a burpee. He can’t help but let his eyes slip down to the sliver of tanned skin between the hem of Changbin’s shirt and the top of his track pants, revealed every time Changbin jumps up from the floor.

 _God, it’s not like you’ve never seen him shirtless before_ , the more sensible part of his brain admonishes.

The other part of his brain, though, has other plans. _Well, yeah, but this is kinda different, you know?_

 _What do you mean, different?_ Jisung thinks this part of his brain is right. He thinks.

_Like, you’ve never bothered to ogle at him while he’s exercising before. He’s kinda hot, right?_

The other side of his brain snorts. _HOT? No way- Well,_ actually…

“And we’re done!” Changbin announces. He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead with a wide grin. Through the viewfinder, Jisung gazes at Changbin as he smiles right at him… or, more specifically, at the lens. “Take a good break after this, you deserve it. And thanks for clicking on this video,” he concludes.

Jisung blinks. “We’re done?”

A tinkle of laughter erupts from Changbin’s hoarse throat. “Yeah, duh,” he singsongs. He’s always a little happier after exercising, probably from the burst of endorphins surging through his veins. “How did it go? Was the filming okay?”

“Yeah, I-” When Jisung pulls back from the camera, he freezes. Oh, fuck. “Uhhhh…”

Noticing the hesitation in Jisung’s voice, Changbin frowns and stalks over to the camera. “What’s wrong? Did it turn out that bad?”

“No, it’s just-” Jisung inhales sharply and braces himself for the impact. “-I forgot to press record.”

It takes exactly three seconds for Changbin to tackle Jisung to the ground and scream at him. Jisung shrieks at the tops of his lungs as his friend begins tickling him all along his sides. “Hyung! I’m sorry!” he screeches. His screams are punctuated by the giggles rising up from his chest. “Hyung! Stop tickling me, I’m sorry!”

“I can’t believe I sweated my ass off and _you didn’t press play_!” Changbin roars. He continues to tickle Jisung mercilessly, sending Jisung into an endless fit of giggles. “I can’t believe I trusted you with this!”

“Ah- Changbin! I’m sorryyyyyy!”

Eventually, Jisung manages to kick at Changbin’s ass, sending the older toppling over so Jisung can tickle him instead. They dissolve into a ridiculous explosion of laughter and screams, until the doorbell rings shrilly and they’re met with their neighbour, that cranky old man who lives across from them and constantly steals their mail purposely-on-accident, telling them to “Shut the fuck up before I lodge a noise complaint against you two!”

Once the door is slammed in their faces, Changbin swivels around to face Jisung and pretends to strangle him. It takes an offer of a free lunch to finally get Changbin to settle down, mop up his sweaty mess and prepare for a second round of exercise.

✷✷✷

To celebrate their hard work and sheer effort, they order fried chicken for dinner. Jisung even brings out the six-pack they had kept stored away in their cupboards for celebration, and chills them in the fridge. While waiting, Jisung edits the video in a jiffy while Changbin breathes down his neck.

“Tsk,” Changbin clicks his tongue, clearly annoyed. “You should’ve panned out here. They can barely see my feet.”

“Yeah, but then they wouldn’t be able to see your sexy arms up close!” Jisung argues. “Thirst trap, remember?”

The thumbnail is the easiest to do. Jisung screenshots a scene with Changbin’s ass popping out in a squat and slaps the title across the white background. 15-MINUTE HIIT WITH THE HOTTEST MAN IN TOWN! Jisung checks to make sure Changbin’s busy in the kitchen, before exporting the video and punching UPLOAD.

As the evening sun slips past the horizon, the doorbell rings to signal the arrival of their fried chicken. After passing the discount coupon from Kyochon that Jisung had been saving up for months now, he takes up the paper bag and skips cheerfully into the kitchen. “Guess who’s going to earn himself ₩50,000 this week?” Jisung sings.

Changbin places the beer can onto the kitchen island with an unceremonious thump. “Guess who’s going to earn himself ₩50,000 this week?” he echoes.

“Oh, come on now, Binnie-hyung!” Jisung insists. “Keep your head up! Stay positive! Optimistic! Sanguine! Buoyant!”

“You’re reading synonyms for optimistic off of your phone, Sungie.”

Slipping his phone back into the pocket of his sweatpants, Jisung jostles Changbin to the side as he plucks a beer can off of the island. “You’re not denying it, though,” he pronounces. He flicks the tab open and allows the beer to guzzle out of the rim. “Just say you know this is going to be a success, and we’re good to go.”

Changbin doesn’t say it, but he still clinks his beer to Jisung’s in a toast and gurgles half the can down his throat.

After moving their dinner to the living room, the both of them sink into their crusty couch and flip through the different channels. They eventually settle on a shitty romance comedy they’ve been chasing after for a few weeks now, out of sheer boredom and the fact that they can’t afford to pay their Netflix subscription. As the characters onscreen kiss for the nth time, Jisung snorts at them. “Look at that shot. It’s literally the epitome of disgust. All you can see are their tongues and their spit.”

Next to him, Changbin takes a swig of his beer. “Right.”

They gaze on at the blur of technicolour as the characters move to the bed. Jisung chuckles. “And now they’re going to have sex in missionary position, because the scriptwriters are boring as fuck,” he predicts. Sure enough, fake moans boom out from the speakers and drown in their eardrums, coupled with the squeaking of the bed springs.

“They could’ve changed the angle of that shot,” Changbin muses. He points drunkenly at the man’s crotch, covered up by the bedsheets. “And could they zoom out from there? I don’t want to see some nonexistent dick flailing around on the screen.”

Another fake moan streams from the speaker. “And how is this even classified as a romance comedy?” Jisung bleats. “There’s no humour at all. Could they sprinkle in a joke about the woman’s hair or something? It looks like it got burnt by the oven.”

As if on cue, the man onscreen whispers delicately into the shell of the woman’s ear. “Baby, your hair looks flawless. Did you iron it before gracing me with your presence?”

The two men dissolve into a fit of giggles, before chinking their beer cans together in rejoice at the absurdity of the script. As they continue to point out the perceptible flaws throughout the episode, Jisung feels his eyelids begin to droop. He leans against Changbin’s arm, head resting on his friend’s shoulder and smiles.

Changbin doesn’t budge an inch, and that’s what makes the sensation even better. “Fucking hell,” Jisung whispers. He rips out a loud burp before continuing. “The guy doesn’t even look the slightest bit hot. You think he bribed their casting director?”

Silence drapes over the both of them. “He’s not hot?” Changbin asks tentatively. “I think his eyebrows are pretty cool.”

“Yeah, but he’s not _hot_ ,” Jisung enunciates. “He doesn’t have the face. Or the body. Hell, I look ten times better than him.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Jisung hums. He snuggles up closer and nuzzles his nose against the fabric of Changbin’s shirt. The cloth smells faintly of Changbin’s sandalwood cologne, nice and fragrant, and he draws another deep inhale. “I want a boyfriend with nice arms. Oh, and he has to give warm hugs, too! I love hugs.”

Another beat of silence follows. “Uh huh.”

“And he needs to be, like, tolerant of my shit, I guess.” Getting drunk for Jisung usually results in him passing out, or worse, being emotional. After a crazy day of filming and bickering and editing, Jisung supposes he’s leaning more towards the latter of the two options. “Is it weird that I’m twenty-five and single?’

When Changbin laughs, Jisung feels the rumble against his cheek. “God, no. Jisung, I’m twenty-six. _And_ I’m single.”

“We should set each other up,” Jisung murmurs. The light beaming from the television begins to shimmer in specks and flashes. Maybe he’s getting sleepy. Maybe. “Get ourselves some shitty men, date them, dump them, and then rate them.”

“Okay…?”

Jisung smooshes his cheek against Changbin’s arm. It’s bulky, but so, so soft and plump, and it reminds Jisung of his favourite pillow. “Soft,” he whispers. “I want bed.”

“Bed?”

“Bed,” Jisung confirms.

The weight of the beer can in his hand dissipates into nothing. The arm he’s leaning against shifts, but before Jisung can whine and complain, he feels someone haul his body up, bridal-style. Familiarity is laced into their steps as Changbin shuffles into their bedroom, slips Jisung carefully out of his grip and pulls the blankets up to his chin.

In fact, they’ve done this too many times to count. Whenever Jisung falls asleep on the coffee table trying to finish an assignment or edit a script, the mornings find him tucked away in his bed with a glass of warm water on his bedside table.

This time, there’s no clear difference, until Jisung’s hand flies out and captures Changbin’s wrist.

“Warm,” Jisung smiles. Dazed, he peers up at Changbin, wide eyes and all. “You’re warm.”

Even in the darkness, he can make out the pink blush dusted across his friend’s cheeks. “Okay?”

“Stay,” Jisung urges. He yanks at Changbin’s wrist, reeling him back to their conjoined beds. Changbin doesn’t protest at all, even when Jisung throws his leg around his hip, even when Jisung leans his head against the other’s chest. Warmth emanates from Changbin’s body, and Jisung relishes in it. “Now sleep.”

Before he finally gives in to the wraths of exhaustion, he hears a soft chuckle from above him and a hushed “Night, Sungie.”

✷✷✷

When Jisung wakes up, his mind processes three things: the warmth from yesterday night is gone, someone’s screaming in his ear, and his head is pounding to the beat of an awful bass-boosted dubstep track. Literally.

“HAN JISUNG!”

Jisung startles from his bed and slams his elbow against the headboard. “Motherfucker!” he curses. He hisses as he clutches onto his arm. “What, Changbin?”

As his blurred vision begins to clear out, he makes out the silhouette of Changbin’s figure stomping towards him. Before he knows it, a phone is shoved into Jisung’s face. “WHAT KIND OF BACKGROUND MUSIC DID YOU PUT ON THE VIDEO?!” he screeches. He looks awfully offended.

As the sounds from the phone filter through his hungover brain, Jisung furrows his eyebrows together. “Uh, EDM? It slaps, honestly.”

“It slaps because everyone in the comment section is _complaining_ about it,” Changbin snarls. “You don’t even like EDM!”

“Wait, wait-” Jisung gasps. He snatches the phone from Changbin’s fingers. With a trembling thumb, he scrolls to the comment section and releases something between a cough and a whine. At the top of the comment section, the number _539_ blinks back at him in all its glory.

“Hyung,” Jisung whispers. “We got 539 comments on the video.”

Changbin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so?”

Jisung scrolls back to the top. He swears under his breath. “Hyung, holy shit. Holy shit!”

“What?! So what if we got 539 comments-”

“-We got 9,292 views overnight,” Jisung croaks. “And 1,200 subscribers.”

He watches as Changbin’s face morphs from anger to confusion to horror. “What?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jisung leaps out of bed and scrambles to their computer at the study desk. He jiggles the mouse, waking up the monitor and stares at the statistics displayed on the screen. True enough, the digits beam triumphantly back at them.

Jisung jerks his chair back and stares wide-eyed at Changbin. “We did it,” he says breathlessly. “Hyung, we did it!”

There’s tears collecting in Changbin’s eyes. “We did it,” he repeats. “Holy shit, we did it!”

They grab and pull each other into a bear hug, Jisung squealing right into Changbin’s ear. An explosion of expletives and incoherent jabbering almost splits Jisung’s eardrums into two, but honestly, he couldn’t care less.

“I can’t believe I doubted you,” Changbin sniffles. He honks into the collar of Jisung’s shirt. “I’m so sorry, Sungie.”

“And _I’m_ sorry for using that awful dubstep remix for the background music!” Jisung rambles.

“No, _I’m_ sorry for ignoring your geniosity,” Changbin continues. “I feel so bad right now.”

“It’s okay!” Jisung grins. He squeezes Changbin’s shoulders as he leans back. “You can make it up to me with your ₩50,000.”

The moment is shattered, and Jisung does a little jig as Changbin begrudgingly retrieves his wallet and counts the bills with a strangled groan. They decide to splurge on it for brunch, and Jisung uses up the remainder of it to add the dark pink hair dye to his cart.

For the rest of the day, the both of them research on how they’re going to receive their first paycheck from their YouTube video. Even though the numbers can’t lie, Jisung can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that they hit 1000 subscribers in under 24 hours. “We didn’t even promote the channel,” Jisung whispers, clicking around on his laptop. “And yet we’ve got more than 1k people begging for more.”

“Actually,” Changbin interjects, “I posted on my Instagram account.”

Jisung pauses. “Since when did you have Instagram?”

Changbin chokes on his saliva. “Since forever ago?” he blurts, horrified. “You follow my account!”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t checked that shit since ages ago. I take antisociality very seriously,” Jisung laments. He signs into his Instagram account on the web, types Changbin’s account into the search engine and clicks on **itschangbinhere**. “Damn, could your Instagram handle be any more generic- Oh.”

He feels his eyes practically pop out of their sockets. “Hyung,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Why the hell do you have 90.4k people following you?!”

Before Changbin can answer that, though, Jisung scrolls down to his feed. They’re mostly photos of him with his friends at various parties, parties that Jisung has never gone to because he’s never understood the concept of throwing drunken parties at university, but sprinkled amidst the feed are photos of Changbin alone. Some are mirror photos, but the ones that have Jisung’s head whirling are the selfies.

“Changbin-hyung,” Jisung sighs. “Can’t you think of a better pose for these photos?”

Changbin scans the screen. Displayed across the laptop screen is a selfie of him, posing with a peace sign, fingers digging into his cheek. “What? It looks cute,” Changbin huffs. “You just don’t accept how I’m breaking the norms of beauty.”

“Right,” Jisung mumbles. He flicks through a few more photos. Most of the mirror selfies are of Changbin in a tank top, sometimes in front of their grimey mirror that they haven’t washed down since they’d moved in, others taken in the solitude of their local gym. Sure, the captions are kind of borderline cringey (#staymotivated or #wednesdaygrind or #jisungjustthrewupinhismouthalittle) but the photos make up for it, Jisung thinks. “No wonder so many people follow you.”

“What?”

The words fall from Jisung’s lips faster than he could process them. “Uh,” he gulps. “Never mind. Anyways, no wonder we got so much traction overnight. You’re lucky you’re a social media persona, hyung.”

“I’m not a social media… persona,” Changbin says slowly. “You should check out Minho-hyung’s Instagram account, though. It’s a laugh.”

It is. They end up giggling at **minhoandcats** ’s feed, at the same time gawking at the fact that Minho’s cat account has garnered over a million followers. “People go crazy for cats, I swear,” Changbin mutters.

Once they’ve scrolled all the way down to the end of Minho’s account (they’ve counted 926 photos of Soonie, 805 photos of Doongie, and 420 photos of Dori. Jisung takes a screenshot of the Excel spreadsheet they’d created and sends it to Minho with the caption #justicefordori), they start to brainstorm ideas for the next workout video.

They switch topics seamlessly, from the workout videos to what they would use their paycheck from YouTube for. “We’re fixing the air-conditioning,” Changbin demands. “And then, we’re buying a coffee table. If we have enough leftover-”

“-More instant ramyun!” Jisung announces. “The Nongshim Shin Ramyun Black one, nothing less.”

Changbin laughs and ruffles up Jisung’s hair. “Sure, sure. We’ll get enough to stock our cupboards,” he agrees. His face has softened, cheeks full as he smiles down at Jisung.

Jisung’s face is suddenly a little too hot for comfort, so he tears his gaze away from his friend and stares back at his laptop screen. Deciding that they’re done for the day, he slams the laptop shut and tucks it away into his bag. “Can we catch up with that drama from yesterday?” he asks hastily. “I wanna see the girl dump the guy after she finds out he was cheating.”

“Wow, you’re weirdly eager to listen to a character cry over a lack of monogamy,” Changbin taunts, but his hand’s already reaching out for the television remote. As the colours burst behind Jisung’s retinas and bore him to death, he can curl up next to Changbin and lay his head against his arm without thinking it’s kinda weird.

They’re _both_ kinda weird, but that’s okay. They’ll keep watching bad dramas and drinking cheap sparkling water and lean against each other on their crusty day-old couch for as long as they want to.

✷✷✷

When Changbin had first offered that they move in together in their first year, Jisung had spat out his orange juice all over the table.

“What?” he spluttered, trying desperately to mop up their mess. They had only known each other for a month by then. To hear a proposition as ludicrous as moving in together not only sounded world-shattering, but weirdly domestic. “Why?”

Changbin shrugged. “I kinda found out that you’ve been sleeping over at your friend’s for a while now?” he said with a wince.

“How would you know-” Wrinkle lines appeared on Jisung’s forehead. “-You know _Seungmin_?”

“I have a friend, Minho-hyung,” Changbin explained. “And apparently he’s friends with Seungmin. Also, he’s got a massive crush on him, but that’s a story for another day.”

A tornado ripped its way through Jisung’s thoughts. “Why should I move in with you, hyung?” he asked in an unintentionally accusatory tone. Changbin didn’t flinch, though, so Jisung continued. “I barely know you, you barely know me — hell, what if I’m a serial killer who steals twenty-one-year-old, sleep-deprived university students’ premolars in their sleep and sells them on the black market?”

A mortified expression found its place on Changbin’s face. “That is oddly specific,” he squeaked.

Jisung cards a frantic hand through his hair. “My point is, we don’t know each other,” Jisung said. “And you’re suggesting that we move in together?”

The branches of the maple tree they were lounging under rustled with the slight autumn breeze. Several leaves fell away, some gliding across the sky before landing on their books spread on the table they were seated at. Changbin picked up a honey golden leaf and twirled it in his hand. “It’s a good idea, though,” he said in a low voice. “You said you’re still looking for an apartment with a low rent. My parents are on the verge of kicking me out, too.”

“Only because you’re freeloading off of them-”

“-Anyways,” Changbin interrupted. He tore off a piece of the leaf and flung it onto Jisung’s open notebook. “Let’s say we move in together. It’s convenient. We take up part-time jobs, and we split the monthly rent between the both of us. What do you say?”

Jisung wanted to say something along the lines of _It’s weirdly domestic, don’t you think?_ but he keeps his mouth clamped shut. It wouldn’t be any different from staying in a dormitory, right? And besides, the accommodation on-campus was pricier than the rental rates he’d spotted for District Apartments the other day. It would be normal. Two dudes who were barely friends, moving in together due to the wraths of their parents and the sheer convenience.

He sucked in a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s move in together.”

He watched Changbin’s eyes light up, the half-torn leaf in his hands forgotten.

Over the winter break, they managed to move into the half-furnished apartment. It was small but well-formed, decked out with a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom and a bathroom — enough for them to live by. Whilst Jisung took up a part-time job at a cafe close by, Changbin wound up working night shifts at the GS25 outlet as a cashier. They would barely make enough for each month’s rent, but they were content with it.

One day, sometime in their second year when Jisung met up with his friends from college, the first thing Seungmin had said was, “Are you dating someone?”

Jisung blinked innocently at his three friends. “No? What makes you say so?”

His three friends exchanged knowing glances. Finally, Hyunjin leaned in close and hissed, “We saw your Instagram story. You know, the one where you and that dude were playing darts and you sounded like a dying seahorse.”

“What the hell does a dying seahorse sound like-” Jisung sighed. Seriously, was this what his followers thought when he’d posted up that video? He thought it was funny to see Changbin whine like a spoiled baby whenever his dart ended up falling to the floor instead of landing on the dart board they’d bought on a drunken dare from the convenience store. “That’s Changbin-hyung, the guy I’m living with.”

Felix pursed his lips together. “And you’re not dating him?”

“Of course not!” Jisung exclaimed. “It’s Changbin-hyung. He babbles weird things in his sleep, his breath always smells like peppermint, and he drinks straight out of the milk carton.”

“ _You_ drank straight out of the milk carton when you were staying with me,” Seungmin pointed out. “I had to buy a separate carton just for you.”

That winded up in a heated argument over whether or not Seungmin _did_ buy a separate carton for him — mainly because Jisung couldn’t remember anything from a year ago, but he wasn’t about to lose a dispute with his college debate clubmate Kim Seungmin — so the four of them ended up forgetting all about Jisung and his imaginary boyfriend.

When he came home, though, he felt his stomach was all knotted up. He was vaguely reminded of the ridiculously complex trucker’s hitch that Hyunjin had shown off to them, something he’d learned from his old days as a boy scout; his gut felt the exact same way now. By the time he stumbled into the living room, he must’ve looked pale, because Changbin shot up from the couch with widened eyes. “Sungie, you good?”

Jisung managed to nod. “Yeah, I think I’m-” and then he barfed all over their floral carpet. To this day, he thinks he did them a favour — it was a pretty scratchy carpet.

That night, Jisung found out he was allergic to eggplants, something he hadn’t known before because he hardly ever ate his vegetables growing up, and he despised eggplants more than Hyunjin did (and that was saying a lot). After a quick visit to the local clinic, Changbin helped Jisung back home, led him to their bedroom and laid him down onto his bed.

“I’ll get some Panadol,” he whispered. He stood up to leave, but Jisung immediately relished in the other’s warmth. Before he could process what was happening, his hand flung out to catch onto Changbin’s sleeve.

“Stay here,” Jisung whispered. For maximum effect, he jutted his lower lip out as cutely as he could. He heard a groan, but Changbin slipped back down onto the floor, head laid down on the edge of the bed.

Lethargy overtook the both of them easily, and that was how they fell asleep that night — Changbin on the floor, Jisung entangled amidst his blankets, their hands intertwined. When they woke up, Jisung chalked his rapid heartbeat up to the aftereffects of his allergic reaction.

So what if they were weirdly domestic? That didn’t mean they were together or anything. To rub it into his friends’ faces, he later posted a picture of Changbin asleep on the floor with the caption #wearethecoolestbros. No one commented anything, except for the rather cynical comment from Seungmin: `did u kick him off of the bed, sungie? ㅋㅋㅋㅋ`

Yeah, they’re weirdly domestic, but it’s Changbin. His best bro who’s seen him through his best and worst times. He’s cool, they’re cool, and now they’ve blown up on YouTube (somewhat).

Little did Jisung know, though, that this was only the beginning of something a little different to what he had expected.

✷✷✷

Their channel, Changbin Works Out, (“That sounds fucking generic,” Changbin mutters, but he didn’t say anything when Jisung clicked Enter bar) had amassed 3,000 subscribers by the end of the week. Unexpected stardom seemed to mess with their brains, though, because before either of them knew it, Jisung’s uploading their second video.

Changbin squints at the words on the screen. “Jesus. _20-MINUTE ARM WORKOUT WITH THE MOST RIPPED DUDE OF YOUR DREAMS_? What if we get accused of clickbait?”

“What clickbait?” Jisung counters. He reaches his arm out to squeeze Changbin’s tricep, in a very, very bro-like manner. “No clickbait here, that’s all I know.” He hears a disapproving guttural noise, but does a little victory dance in his head when Changbin strides off in resignation, not even willing to put up a fight with him.

As Changbin begins to cook dinner for them (“No more instant ramyun for you,” he’d scolded Jisung the other day. “Your body is pretty much 90% MSG by now.”), Jisung scrolls down to the comment section of their first video, just for gags.

**` risky2wiggy2thisisanemergency` **  
`MY FUCKING EARS ARE BLEEDING WTF IS THAT BACKGROUND MUSIC i had to MUTE IT THE WHOLE WAY 382 likes, 97 replies`

` **bc97** `  
`great workout video! looking forward for more 70 likes, 2 replies`

` **I AM MARIAH CAREY** `  
`YES I DO THE COOKING, YES I DO THE CLEANING, PLEASE HIRE ME CHANGBIN OPPA 1,029 likes, 472 replies`

` **michael leekson** `  
`great form! finally someone who knows what the hell they’re doing on this platform 192 likes, 4 replies`

` **innie meenie miney mo** `  
`gonna do this for my next workout!! thank you for the vid 327 likes, 9 replies`

Jisung scrolls back to the I AM MARIAH CAREY comment and frowns. “What the-” He frowns at the words. He snorts through his nose. “ _Changbin oppa_? As if he’ll even notice you, Mariah Carey, because guess what? He’s gay as hell,” he hisses. “You could clean the entire fucking house, and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at you, you two-faced-”

“-Who’re you talking to?”

Startled, Jisung swipes the computer mouse to the floor with a squeak. “No one!” he yelps. He glimpses up to see Changbin in the doorway, a floral apron donned over his tee shirt and shorts. “Just reading a few comments, that’s all.”

“Okayyyy then,” Changbin chuckles. Once he’s disappeared out of sight, Jisung lets out a sigh of relief and reaches down to retrieve the mouse. As soon as he does, though, an epiphany washes over him and drowns him in his wake.

Wait. _Wait_. Why should Mariah Carey’s comment be bothering him at all? Why should he have the sudden urge to punch a snarky reply to Mariah Carey? Obviously Mariah Carey wouldn’t _know_ that Changbin doesn’t swing that way, right? (Also, he likes Mariah Carey’s songs. Maybe he shouldn’t bash her on the Internet so she’ll release another Christmas hit. Good save, Hannie.)

His train of thoughts cuts short, though, when Changbin calls him for dinner. Somehow, a miracle has descended upon their little household, and Changbin (yes, you’re reading this right, _Seo Changbin_ ) has managed to decently grill a fish, some beef, and even some vegetables, which he forcibly stuffs into Jisung’s mouth despite the latter’s desperate attempts to avoid the aeroplane spoon.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are touching down on Han International Airport,” Changbin announces monotonously. He glides the metal spoon through the air and stops short in front of Jisung’s clamped lips. “Oh dear, it seems like we’ve hit some turbulence,” he continues, before wriggling the spoon between his lips. “Buckle up, everyone, it’ll be a little bit of a rough ride.”

Jisung ends up accidentally biting down on Changbin’s pinky finger, much to his pained chagrin. To make up for it, Jisung spoons a broccoli into his mouth and smiles meekly. “Thank you for flying with us, we hope you’ll never choose Han Flights ever again!” he cheers.

Beyond the thrill of posting home workout videos, their lives are pretty normal, at least in Jisung’s opinion. They bicker over who’s doing the dishes, over who’s bringing the overflowing laundry basket down to the wash, over who didn’t make the bed (considering their beds are now conjoined, it’s a little harder to decide.)

Later that night, Jisung pulls up a script he’s been working on for the past few weeks. With _Fight or Flight_ ’s production cancelled, Jisung supposes it’s worth it to spare a couple of hours each day to work on a new idea he’s been harbouring for a while now.

He’s not sure if he’s ready to turn it in to anyone, honestly. He knows that there’s a few shows undergoing filming right now, so if this pandemic comes down to a crawl, he’ll be able to submit his script and possibly get a deal with a director or producer. Jisung’s not one to brag, but he knows this particular idea is great on its own.

All of a sudden, Jisung feels the mattress dip underneath it. He turns to see Changbin, who’s engrossed with his phone. “Hey, the video finally finished uploading,” he says. He tilts the phone to let Jisung see the screen, and he whistles.

“Wow,” Jisung murmurs. “It hasn’t been 10 minutes and there’s already over a hundred views. You’re wanted, Changbin-hyung,” he teases.

Changbin shrugs and clicks his phone off. “I don’t know if we can rely on the profits we’re raking in, though,” he admits. “We can post a few more workout videos, but surely the market for this kind of stuff will get saturated soon enough.”

“If the YouTube stardom is getting to your head, mind you — we’re also film dudes with degrees under our belts,” Jisung points out. “This video thing is just going to keep us going for a while. Once the pandemic slows down, we’ll be able to return to set, and we can forget about the channel.”

“Whatever you say , then,” Changbin mutters. His eyes land on Jisung’s laptop screen. “Is this the script you’re working on?”

A sense of self-consciousness bursts under Jisung’s skin. He sheepishly closes his laptop screen with a strained smile. “Yeah, but it’s not the best right now,” he admits. “I can show it to you when it’s done.”

He knows Changbin knows that he hates showing off his works until he’s assured that the final product is good enough. And sometimes, Jisung’s ‘good enough’ is never good enough. That time he’d shown Changbin his script for _Fight or Flight_ , he swore he saw tears in his friend’s eyes from finally being able to read his work.

Changbin drops the subject and moves on from there. “When do you want to film the next video?” he asks.

“Mm, I was thinking on Wednesday?” Jisung offers. “That way, I have enough time to edit it and upload it by Friday.”

“Cool,” Changbin says. He unlocks his phone and taps into Instagram. “Because I’m meeting someone on Thursday. Thought it would interrupt filming.”

“Okay, cool-” Wait, not cool. That didn’t sound right. “You’re meeting with someone?” Jisung gapes. “Who?”

Changbin chuckles to himself. “Some guy who DMed me,” he replies casually. “Said he watched my video and really admired my form, so he asked if we could work out together.”

Subconsciously, Jisung feels the corner of his lips turn downwards. “All the local gyms are closed,” Jisung says, rather scornfully. “Where would you two even work out?”

“He lives in a condo,” Changbin explains. “They’ve got an Olympic-sized pool, a basketball court, gym, and pretty much everything else. It’s honestly kinda cool.”

Something akin to nervousness rises up Jisung’s throat. “You don’t even know who he is, though,” he whispers. “What if he’s a serial killer who likes to lure hunky, twenty-six-year-old cinematographers who post videos on YouTube to pay their electric bill?”

A soft laugh escapes Changbin’s lips. “You think I’m hunky?” he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “Don’t worry, Jisung, he’s not a nobody. Apparently we’re both friends with Minho-hyung. His handle’s bc97.”

In an instance, Jisung connects the dots in his head. He remembers the comment from bc97 that he’d read earlier, and it ignites something within him. “Well, are you sure you even want to work out with him?” he pouts. “I’m gonna be all alone by myself.”

“You said you hated my presence yesterday,” Changbin argues. “And if you’re worried about me getting sick, don’t worry! Apparently the condo gym gets sanitised every hour.”

“Right,” Jisung mutters. He flips his laptop screen up, turns the brightness down low and continues working on his script. “Have fun, then. Keep your mask up.”

When Changbin does leave to meet his mystery admirer the following morning, Jisung hits all his friends up and invites them to his house, just so he doesn’t have to curl up watching shitty dramas all by himself.

“And he just tells me that _Oh, the condo gym gets sanitised every hour!_ ” he hisses spitefully. He spears his spoon angrily into the tub of cookie dough ice cream they keep for emergency situations in the freezer. “As if I care about sanitisation! What if the guy he meets ends up killing him? Or worse, sells his organs to the black market?! People get desperate when they’re unemployed, you know.”

All three of his friends stare up at him from where they’re seated on the carpeted floor, jaws hanging, spoons floating over their ice creams. Seungmin’s the first to speak. “Well, you said it yourself. Changbin-hyung and the guy both know Minho-hyung. I can even call Minho-hyung and ask him who’s bc97,” he offers.

Jisung rolls his eyes. “As if I want to know who he is,” he bleats. “It’s better to keep him anonymous in my head, you know? I can easily plan out a thousand ways to murder him in my dreams that way.”

“The violence in this conversation is uncanny,” Felix comments.

“Indeed,” Hyunjin agrees in a hushed voice.

As Jisung scoops up another spoonful of ice cream, he clasps the tub closer to his chest. “He even wore cologne before he went out. Cologne! He never does that whenever he goes to the gym!”

For some reason or another, his three friends exchange a weird look. “What? What’s going on now?” Jisung whines.

“Jisung.” Seungmin musters the most serious voice he can make, and stares at his friend square in the eye. His eyes look remorseful, and in some way, pitiful. “I think you like Changbin-hyung.”

Not _again_. “Guys, we’ve gone over this conversation a thousand times,” he whimpers. “Stop bringing it up over and over again! I! Do! Not! Like! Changbin! Hyung! And that’s final!”

“You’re the one who brought him up in the first place,” Hyunjin snorts.

“No I didn’t!”

Felix casts him a pitiful smile. “Jisung, when you greeted us at the door, you literally screamed HOW DARE CHANGBIN-HYUNG LEAVE ME ALONE right in our faces. Your neighbour immediately walked out and cursed you.”

Jisung sticks out his tongue and shoves another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “It’s true! How dare he leave me alone all by myself? Am I expected to entertain myself?”

Cautiously, Seungmin scrambles to his feet and plops himself down onto the couch next to his friend. “What do you like about living with Changbin-hyung?” he suddenly asks.

Irked by the random question, Jisung guffaws. “You’re just trying to convince me I like Changbin-hyung, aren’t you?” he sneers. When he doesn’t get a response, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever, I’ll answer the question. He pays his rent on time, which is cool, but he never pays the water or electricity bills on time when it’s his turn. He has this weird habit of waking up early at the crack of dawn, but that’s nice because he always leaves breakfast on the table. Also, whenever I fall asleep in the living room or something, he’ll carry me to bed and tuck me in, which is nice of him, I guess.”

When he’s done, he hears Hyunjin’s spoon clattering to the floor. “Han Jisung, you are a lovesick fool,” he whispers.

Jisung supposes his friends don’t get the message, though, so he retrieves the remote control and turns the television on. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” he announces loudly. “So what are we watching?”

The question instantly stirs a quarrel between Felix and Hyunjin, who eventually wrestle for the remote control because they can’t decide on a baseball match or a romance drama that Hyunjin’s been binge watching lately. Jisung tries hard to ignore the way Seungmin’s eyes seem to sear a hole by the side of his head, and instead scrapes away at his ice cream tub until he’s left with an empty plastic bowl.

✷✷✷

On Saturday, in the middle of tucking into their lunch of Japanese takeout, their kitchen table collapses into a heap on the ground. Jisung whines as his sushi tumbles out of the takeaway bag and onto the greasy floor. “Noooooo! Not the salmon maki!”

Carefully, Changbin cleans up the food that has fallen to the floor, before attempting to fix the table. Apparently, a loose bolt that had been holding the table up popped out of place and rolled off somewhere. After an arduous search, Changbin declares the bolt unsearchable.

Thus, they take the next plausible step: IKEA.

Thankfully, the pandemic isn’t that bad in the area they’re living, so they’re able to hop into Changbin’s beat-up, hand-me-down car and drive down to IKEA. The first thing they do there is, of course, eat. To make up for Jisung’s lost lunch, Changbin pays for his share of meatballs.

“Thanks, hyung,” Jisung grins. It’s been a while since they’ve been to IKEA; the last time they came down here was when they’d first moved into the apartment. Back then, saving up was a top priority, which probably explained the flimsy dining table. And chairs. And coffee table.

Once they’ve gobbled down their food, the both of them walk through the display rooms. Jisung scans the tables, rating each of them as they stroll past. “That one’s too small,” he points out. “And that one probably can’t fit our kitchen. But the design’s, like, an 8 out of 10.”

The only response he seems to get out of Changbin is a slight nod with each comment. He doesn’t seem too excited with furniture shopping, Jisung figures.

However, when they begin to walk past the humongous queen-sized beds, Changbin starts vibrating so hard anyone could’ve mistaken him for a cell phone. “Holy shit, look at those beauts,” Changbin swoons. He _swoons_. Jisung thinks this is one hell of a memorable day.

He even walks over to press a hand against the bed. When the mattress springs back up, Changbin grins like a little child on Christmas Day. “My mattress feels like a crusty log,” he pouts.

“ _My_ mattress feels like a thousand thorns,” Jisung chuckles. He follows after him and brushes a hand across the duvet. “This feels so heavenly.”

“Like sleeping on a sea of clouds.”

“Like lying down in heaven.”

“It probably feels better than sex.”

Jisung chokes on air and slaps a hand across Changbin’s back. “Hyung! A bit of a warning before you switch parental ratings, will you?” he chortles.

To his surprise, he notices the way Changbin’s gaze shifts from side to side. Apart from them, there’s no one else in the vicinity. A mischievous smile plays on his lips as he tugs Jisung’s sleeve closer. “You think we can give this mattress a demo?”

If Jisung were a cartoon character, his jaw would be on the floor now. “Changbin-hyung, you absolute _baby_ ,” he jokes. “You sure security won’t catch us?”

“Nah,” Changbin says. He’s already kicking off his sneakers. He really is like a little kid. “Now come on.”

It doesn’t take much persuasion to get Jisung to slip off his Crocs and bound up onto the bed, and fuck, Changbin might be right on the ‘better than sex’ part. (Not like Jisung has much to say on that, though. Ahem. Moving on.) He shifts on the bed so his head lays down on the pillow, and he grins lazily.

“Big spoon or little spoon?” he asks Changbin.

“Little,” Changbin says without a beat of hesitation.

Jisung chuckles and loops an arm around his roommate’s waist. Even if the rest of Changbin is built solid as a rock, the dollops resting atop his abdomen are probably Jisung’s favourite part. They rest there, mattress dipping under them with the sound of lo-fi music streaming from the overhead speakers.

It’s weirdly domestic, Jisung thinks. _If he turned his head around and faced you, that’d be even weirder_ , part of his brain admits.

 _But looking at your bro in the eyes can’t be that weird, right?_ the other part of his brain whispers.

Stupidly enough, Jisung kinda wants Changbin to turn around and face him. Stare at his eyes or something. Or maybe he could blow a raspberry at him. Or-

“-Are you Changbin?”

The unfamiliar voice startles them, and Jisung practically flies right out of the bed. His eyes land on a boy, with eyes sparkling with wonder as he stares at… at Changbin. “Are you Changbin? Like, the dude from Changbin Works Out?”

Changbin blinks. “Uh, yeah,” he nods. He does that weird thing again, where he pokes his hand out for a handshake. Some things never change, even after five years. “I’m Changbin.”

The boy seems unbothered by the formalities, though. He eagerly sticks his own arm out, and they exchange a firm handshake. “I’m Jeongin. I actually started working out recently, you know, what with the pandemic and everything. I really love your videos! They’ve been super helpful.”

Jisung watches this very, very strange exchange between the two of them. Weirdly enough, Changbin seems to bask in this newfound attention. He laughs his stupid laugh, his nose scrunching up and all. “Thanks, kid,” he grins. “It’s cool that I helped you out.”

“Indirectly, of course,” Jeongin says. His cheeks turn to a shade of pink. “To be honest, none of my friends are willing to check my form and stuff, so it’d be cool if I had someone to sort of… look out for me?”

Oh. _Oh_. So this is where things are going. Something flares up inside Jisung’s gut. How dare this man who proclaims he’s a fan of Changbin ask a favour from him? Who the hell does he think he is? Changbin’s friend?

With the instincts of a mother hen protecting her chicks, Jisung latches a vigilant hand around Changbin’s arm. “Wow, hyung, look at the time!” he blurts. “We should go buy that table and head home quick, don’t you think?”

His voice is probably a notch too high, because both of them cast him strange looks. Befuddled, Changbin checks his phone for the time. “Are we late for something? Because it’s only three-”

“-Yes, we’re going to visit your parents, right? Haha! I can’t believe you forgot, hyung, what a bad son you are!” Jisung shoots Jeongin a sweet smile as he begins to lead Changbin out of the bed display room. “It was very nice meeting you, Jeongin! We both hope you have a splendid day ahead of you!”

Within seconds, Jisung drags his friend out of the room, leaving Jeongin utterly and completely confused all by himself.

As soon as the both of them are out of earshot, Changbin wrenches his hand away from Jisung. He stares at Jisung with a look of surprise, as if the latter had sprouted a third arm from his chest or something. “What the hell, Jisung?” he splutters. “We don’t have anything to do for the rest of the day!”

“Oh, but you almost had something to do,” Jisung says, “that is, if you had agreed to help out with Jeongin, of course.”

The expression on Changbin’s face conforms into confusion. “So what if he wanted to ask me for help? There’s nothing wrong with that,” he retorts.

“No, there _is_ something wrong with that,” Jisung shoots back. “Didn’t you see the guy? He was holding his hands shyly behind his back! He was blushing like a high school boy asking someone out! He was _in love_ with you!”

“Oh.” Changbin runs a hand through his hair, the shock evident on his face. “Oh my gosh. You were jealous of me.”

Jisung feels his tongue go limp. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” he screeches.

“You like Jeongin,” Changbin gasps. “Oh gosh, I’m so stupid.”

“YES, YOU ARE STUPID!” Jisung yells. He forcibly grabs Changbin’s shoulders and shakes him. Hard. “I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO HIM AT ALL! PERIOD! P-E-R-I-O-D!”

“OKAY, I GET IT! NOW STOP HARASSING ME!” Changbin yowls. “SECURITY! SECURITYYYYY!”

To their great surprise, security actually _does_ come running to them, pries them apart — and promptly kicks them out of the store. Evidently, someone had checked the CCTV footage and had watched “a wildly domestic couple sharing their honeymoon on our ₩400,000 BRIMNES bed”. The both of them had to strut the walk of shame out of the store, cheeks blushing furiously under their masks as they trudged back to the car empty-handed.

As they clamber into the car, Changbin twists the key in the ignition. He doesn’t move the gears yet, though. “That was definitely your fault,” he gripes.

“That was _your_ fault,” Jisung snaps. “If only you hadn’t flirted with Jeongin.”

“You literally tore us apart before any flirting could’ve taken place!” Changbin sighs.

The silence envelopes them for another few moments, until Jisung bursts into tears.

“Fuck, I’m-” He rubs away his tears, trying desperately to stem the flow, but to no avail. He cries into his shirt and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, hyung. I thought I was doing you a favour and everything but I just majorly fucked things up, and-”

“-Jisung, no. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pinned the blame on you,” Changbin heartens. His hand comes up to Jisung’s hair and pets his head softly. “ _I_ was the one who suggested to go on the bed, not you.”

Jisung peers up from his tear-sodden shirt. “We’re still bros?”

“Of course, bro.”

They do a little fist bump, which makes Jisung erupt into a fit of giggles. Satisfied, Changbin jerks the car to drive and whisks them away back home. (They make a pit stop on the way to pick up Jisung’s favourite ice cream, of course, because ice cream always cures tears.)

✷✷✷

“Guess what came in the mail todayyyyy!”

As Jisung trips his way into the bedroom — literally, because he has to windmill his arms to stop him from crash landing face-first onto the floor — Changbin swivels around in his desk chair and removes his headphones with a frown. When his eyes land on the tub in Jisung’s hand, he releases something between a whimper and a cry. “No.”

“Yes!”

“Noooooo…” Changbin looks on the verge of tears. “My hair!”

Jisung flourishes the tub in his hand. “Look, Changbin-hyung, your hair will _not_ fall out this time,” he articulates. “This is a dark, dark shade of pink, which means no bleaching is required. Plus, I am quite possibly the king of self-dye, as you may have noticed.” For maximum effect, he twirls a strand of dark blue hair around his forefinger.

“Your scalp is pretty much a helmet,” Changbin grouches, “whilst mine is a baby’s skin. Soft and tender.”

Still, he doesn’t really put up a fight as Jisung snatches up his wrist and drags them into their bathroom. He manages to wrangle Changbin into their bathtub, before balancing himself on the edge. “Okay, I’ve got the Vaseline, some random thingamajig that we have to mix with the dye, and the pink hair dye. Let’s get this thing going.”

“I didn’t even say yes yet.”

Jisung gives him a pointed look. “You can back out of it now, hyung,” he says forlornly. When Changbin doesn’t, Jisung grins. “Okay, great! Now strip.”

“What?”

“Strip!” Jisung sings. He places the tube of dye onto the floor before reaching out to pull his own shirt off. “Don’t want the dye to land on your shirt or anything.”

Changbin makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat — most of his replies are usually in the form of grunts, wheezes or groans — and yanks off his shirt. He rolls his tense shoulders back and sighs. “Okay, I’m ready.”

With a careful hand, Jisung dips his fingers into the small tub of Vaseline and gently slathers it along Changbin’s hairline. As he does so, Changbin allows his eyelids to flutter shut, his shoulders relaxing as he leans back against the bathtub. It’s an oddly intimate gesture, and Jisung finds himself having to concentrate harder on applying the jelly-like lotion across his friend’s skin.

Once he’s done, he pops the lid off of the hair dye bottle, squeezes the thingamajig into the tube, then caps it and jiggles it furiously in his hands. “Aren’t you excited, hyung?” he cajoles.

“I was born for this,” Changbin answers, voice dripping with sarcasm. As an afterthought, he adds, “Baby.”

That instantly sends Jisung into an overdrive, and he begins belting out the lyrics to The Score’s _Born For This_. In one hand, he takes ahold of the bottle. In the other, he slicks back Changbin’s hair, absolutely exhilarated. “Ready, hyung?”

“Readier than ever.”

“Alright, that’s the spirit!” With that said, Jisung squeezes out a huge glob of dark pink hair dye on top of Changbin’s hair — and he begins. He grabs a spare comb to card the dye through Changbin’s hair, humming his way through his magnificent artwork.

After he scrunches and bunches up the other’s hair to get the dye to sink in, Jisung leans back to admire his job well done. “Well, look at you! You look like a brand new person!” he announces.

And Changbin does. Jisung thinks he did a fairly good job picking out the shade of pink. It’s leaning more towards a dark Fandango pink, but bright enough to highlight Changbin’s facial features. Under the blinking lightbulb that neither of them have bothered to fix yet, Changbin looks kind of ethereal, fresh pink hair and shirtless and all.

 _God_ , Jisung thinks. _I really do need some help._

Something from the depths of his thoughts niggles at him, though. _You gotta admit,_ the thought whisper. _He looks helluva hunk of a man._

“I think I need a drink,” Jisung mutters. He wobbles to his feet and narrowly misses the step adjoining the bathroom to the bedroom on his way out.

When he returns, he passes Changbin a beer can before flipping the tab of his own open. Clearly, Changbin’s puzzled by the sudden drinking fest, but he’s not one to argue against free booze (even if it’s just from their fridge). “What if we end up doing YouTube forever?” Changbin wonders aloud. “Like, what if we just keep churning out workout videos?”

Jisung takes a sip from his beer. “For someone who was so doubtful of my amazeballs idea, you seem awfully invested in our YouTube sojourn,” he considers.

“Just saying,” Changbin says. A bit of the extra dye drips down onto the bathtub. Jisung watches the pink colour pop against its white background. “It’s kind of fun, to be honest.”

“Mm.” Jisung swirls the can around in his hand thoughtfully. He _should_ feel happy, right? Happy that his best friend’s finally on board with his idea, happy that his best friend’s actually happy with his idea. He should feel happy.

Instead, he feels like he’s wallowing in a puddle of weird feelings. His stomach even churns when Changbin burps right into his face. And then that weird sensation rises up his stomach, his chest, and something creeps past the gaps between his ribs and blooms into full blossom right in the crevices of his heart, and oh.

 _Oh_.

He places the beer can shakily on the edge of the sink. “Your breath stinks,” he manages to choke out.

Changbin frowns, before cupping a hand over his mouth and exhaling. He takes a whiff, and pulls a face. “Oh, wow, it actually _does_ stink.”

Once they’ve rinsed off the excess dye, and once Changbin’s done ooh-ing and aah-ing his hair in the mirror, and once Jisung climbs into his mattress sporting a bad case of hiccups, the realisation fully settles into his bones, all the way down to the marrow.

 _Holy shit_ , Jisung thinks. _I fell in love with Changbin when he burped in my face._

✷✷✷

` **4 IDIOTS** `

` **the han-dsomest quokka** `  
`i think im in love with changbin-hyung 00:13`

` **kim seungmin** `  
`??? IVE BEEN SAYING THAT SINCE WE WERE IN UNI WTF FINALLY???? BYE TIME TO THROW MYSELF A PARTY 00:14`

` **lixie** `  
`HYUNJIN U OWE ME ₩15,000 00:15`

`**hyunjinnie** has changed the group chat name to **3 IDIOTS + 1 LOVESICK FOOL**`

✷✷✷

Right. It takes a stupid YouTube escapade, a broken IKEA table, and about 15,000 words (give or take) for Han Jisung to realise he’s been in love with Changbin this entire time.

He’s in love with Seo Changbin, aka his best friend, slash his roommate, slash the bro-est of all bros, and Jisung thinks he’s going to have a quarter-life crisis.

Thus, Jisung, like any other person who’s finally come to terms with their undying love for their bestest friend in the world, does the next most practical step in his life: he curls himself up in bed for the entirety of the day and watches nature documentaries.

The problem is, every time a video of a bunny appears on his screen, Jisung feels his eyes well up with tears, and he has to run to the bathroom to splash water on his face, slap his cheeks together and chant a rather cryptic _YOU CAN DO THIS, HAN JISUNG. YOU ARE HAN JISUNG_ before slipping back under the covers and pressing play on the video.

When Changbin arrives home from grocery shopping in the afternoon, he pokes his head into their bedroom and gazes on at the figure balled up in the corner of their bed. “Jisung? You good, man?”

 _Man_ , Jisung thinks. _He just called me ‘man’. Why the hell am I in love with him?_

Ever so gracefully, he moves the blanket covering his face and shoots Changbin a sheepish grin. “Yo?”

“Jesus, I thought you died under the blankets or something,” Changbin sighs. He walks around to the side of the bed and plops down onto the edge. Even with a few inches’ worth of space between them, Jisung can already feel the other’s warmth filtering through the bedsheets. “You skipped breakfast _and_ lunch. You need me to get you anything?”

“No,” Jisung mutters. He ducks his head back under the covers in an attempt to hide his face.

There must’ve been something in his voice that gave it away, though, because Changbin frowns and leans closer. “You sure you okay, Sungie? Did you fall sick yesterday night?” he whispers.

His voice is a little gravelly, but soothing all the same. It makes Jisung feel all fuzzy. “I’m not sick,” he reassures. “I’m just-” _Lovesick_ , the Hyunjin in his head sings. “-Living. Yeah. I’m living.”

Changbin shifts his weight until he’s laid across his side of the mattress. It seems like he’s not going to budge at all. “Cool. What’re you watching?”

“National Geographic,” Jisung replies tepidly. On any other day, he would curl up and salvage whatever he can from Changbin’s body heat. Right now, though, he wants a hole to open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

“Oh, look! It’s a flying squirrel,” Changbin giggles. He points at the squirrel darting across Jisung’s screen. “Its cheeks really look like yours.”

This, Jisung realises, cannot last any longer. His heart is ready to burst at the seams, and he needs to do _something_ about it, so he slams his phone face-down onto the mattress and glares at Changbin.

“Seo Changbin,” he hisses. “I am in love with you.”

The words spill out faster than Jisung can think them through, but it’s too late. Changbin’s jaw slackens. His eyes widen into saucers. “Oh.” He blinks. Once. Twice. “Oh, wow, uh…”

Between them, the video on Jisung’s phone continues to play. _When you’ve got fur instead of feathers, going airborne takes some guts. But the flying squirrel never hesitates to leap into the void._

God, if that weren’t Jisung’s life motto from now on, he doesn’t know what is.

Jisung swallows, fingers fumbling to click his phone off. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Let’s forget I said that-”

Before he can force the words out, they’re drowned out by the press of Changbin’s lips against his. Jisung gasps, hands flying out to grab at Changbin’s arms holding him in place. It’s an awkward angle, and Changbin’s breath tastes like spicy fried chicken, and Jisung feels like he’s melting at an exponentially rapid pace into a puddle of nothingness, but his inner instincts manage to kick in, and he kisses Changbin back with fervour.

When they pull back, Changbin gazes at him fondly. There’s little stars sewn into the dark pools of his eyes. “I’m in love with you, too, you complete dumbass. Is this why you decided to hide under your blankets for half a day?”

“I was having a quarter-life crisis!” Jisung protests. “I literally just found out yesterday! Cut me some slack, hyung.”

“Yesterday?” Changbin shakes his head with a small laugh. “Cool. I’ve been in love with you since the day we met.”

For a moment, Jisung thinks he might actually black out. He leans back against Changbin’s arm and clutches a hand melodramatically to his chest. “You’ve been in love with me since the day we met,” he echoes. “I didn’t know you bought into the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing, hyung.”

“Technically, it was love at _second_ sight,” Changbin corrects. “I instantly liked you when you started rambling about how illegal it was for Disney Studios to kill Tadashi Hamada off within the first 20 minutes of the movie.”

“It _is_ illegal! Like, okay, I get that his death contributed a huge part of the movie, but did they really have to kill my first animated crush off like _that_?”

Changbin smiles. He leans in to drop a kiss against Jisung’s lips, but he doesn’t move. “Mm, you’re right. They shouldn’t have,” he agrees, grinning. He lets Jisung kiss him, clambering into his lap and clumsily looping his arms around Changbin’s neck. The unfamiliarity of kissing slowly dissipates as Jisung eases into the other’s warmth seeping through his skin, like ink spreading across paper.

The blossom in his chest sends tingles down his spine. When they part to take a breather, Jisung smiles. “It’s weird,” he whispers. “It’s like a flower found its way to my chest and started growing out of nowhere.”

Changbin curls a hand around the nape of Jisung’s neck. To his surprise, his head is turned gently to the side of their bedroom. “Speaking of flowers, it looks like Lacey’s into exhibitionism.”

That comment earns him a smack on his arm, which Changbin laughs off before indulging in Jisung once more. Still, just for the sake of Lacey The Houseplant’s innocence, they decide to move their business to the couch, where they kiss until Changbin sidewinds off of the couch and lands in a pile on their lime green carpet.

✷✷✷

The moment Jisung opens the front door the next morning, he’s immediately met with the incoming barrage of three voices shouting right into his face.

“SINCE WHEN DID YOU LIKE CHANGBIN HYUNG- Oh, hi Changbin-hyung,” Seungmin smiles.

Surprised to hear his name, Changbin pops up from where he’s standing behind Jisung. “Oh, I didn’t know you were having your friends over, Sungie,” he says. To all of Jisung’s friends’ horror, Changbin leans down and drops a kiss against Jisung’s cheek. “I’m gonna head out to buy some fruits; we ran out of them yesterday. Have fun!”

They all watch Changbin stroll down the corridor. The second he turns the corner, Felix pounces on him in an instance. Jisung’s screams for help are duly ignored as he’s dragged to the living room and wrestled onto the couch until he gives them a full explanation.

“Look,” Jisung sighs. “I found out.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Yes, we know you found out. We want the juicy details, you know. How did you find out? Who confessed first? And did you both use protection-”

“-Anyways,” Hyunjin interrupts. “Why didn’t you confess to Changbin a month later? I lost a bet with Felix!”

“It’s not his fault that the both of you are immature as hell,” Seungmin points out. He swivels back around to face a rather bewildered Jisung. “So.”

“He burped in my face,” Jisung admits. “So I fell in love with him.”

The only thing that splits the silence between them is the sound of the coffee tabletop crashing to the floor, the dumbbell underneath it rolling across the carpet. “I told you all,” Hyunjin mutters. “He’s seriously a lovesick fool.”

By the time Changbin returns home from grocery shopping, he has to help wrangle Jisung out from the tickle fest his friends have ensued against him, only to mischievously slip his hands under Jisung’s shirt and continue the merciless attack of tickles. As Jisung’s screams reach the limits of human hearing, the doorbell rings sharply, probably from their cranky old neighbour, but for once, no one really cares at all.

✷✷✷

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.”

“I can’t, hyung, I’m going to trip over my feet and fall and _die_. And it’s gonna be captured. On film.”

Exasperated, Changbin steadies Jisung by the shoulders and steers him towards the yoga mat. “You can and you will do this. You lost the bet, so you have to do this, fair and square,” he demands. His voice has dropped a few notes, and sure, it’s inherently sexy, but Jisung is most definitely not going to let his hormones kick him in the ass.

When he moves to open his mouth in protest, though, Changbin swoops forward and captures his lips in an awfully languid kiss. The voice in Jisung’s head dies down, and he lets his hormones surge into overdrive. Great. He is _definitely_ letting his hormones kick him in the ass.

When Jisung’s hands begin to slip under the hem of his boyfriend’s shirt, Changbin reels backwards with a small smile. “You’re going to do this.”

“Yes, I will,” Jisung sighs dreamily. Jesus, he sounds worse than that shitty drama’s script. He can’t believe he’s letting himself submit to carrying out his side of the bet. (Contextually speaking, Jisung had placed a bet with Changbin stating that he could hold a handstand longer than Changbin could. After collapsing into a tangle of limbs in the middle of their living room, they had to make a quick visit to the clinic just to make sure Jisung didn’t sport a concussion. Their life is a huge joke, it seems.)

Still, he leans forward to press another kiss against the tip of Changbin’s nose before standing back. In an attempt to exude confidence, he plants his hands on either side of his waist and cocks his hip out. “We’re ready!”

Changbin smothers a laugh. “You sure you want to wear that?” he queries.

On the topic of ‘that’, Jisung is sporting a neon pink headband under his floppy electric blue hair. He’s donned on a white singlet, pastel blue yoga pants and his old lime green sport shoes. He is quite possibly the walking disaster of a fashion show, curated by only yours truly. Jisung slicks his hair back with a wide smirk. “Why? Worried it’ll ruin the monochrome aesthetic of our channel?”

His boyfriend offers a small hum, before settling back down onto the edge of the bed. “Just wondering,” he replies. “We’re rolling in five seconds, okay?”

Yeah, Jisung is definitely going to regret this.

Five hours and one mental breakdown later, Jisung watches in sheer agony as Changbin adjusts the title on the thumbnail shot. _10-MINUTE AB WORKOUT WITH THE CUTEST SQUIRREL IN SEOUL_. He covers his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, as if the words would vanish in the blink of an eye. Forget mortification, Jisung is blushing fifty shades of humiliation. “Couldn’t you think of a catchier title? Like, 10-MINUTE AB WORKOUT WITH MY HOT BOYFRIEND?”

Changbin punches the Enter bar, watching the video get uploaded on their channel. “Nuh uh,” he grins. He balances Jisung on his leg and bounces him up and down. He licks a stripe up Jisung’s ear, which only makes the latter laugh out loud. “You’re more cute than hot, honestly.”

“What?” Offended, Jisung turns around to glare at Changbin. “I am hot. I’m the hottest human specimen on this fucking planet.”

“Sure.”

Jisung smooshes Changbin’s cheeks and bumps their foreheads together. “No kisses for the rest of the month if you don’t admit that I _am_ hot,” he threatens, hoping his voice sounds menacing enough.

To his dismay, Changbin cackles obnoxiously loud and pinches the other’s cheek. “We both know you can’t go that long without physical touch,” he taunts.

Changbin’s right. As defeat looms over his head, Jisung leans back against Changbin’s chest as they watch the video slowly upload itself onto the platform. By the time the video is finally posted, Jisung’s phone blows up with a thousand messages from his friends.

“Look at these comments,” Changbin chuckles. “They’re hilarious.”

Jisung peers over his shoulder and scans the words on the computer screen.

**` stonk king` **  
`PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS, O YOUR MAJESTY THE KING OF FASHION 2,103 likes, 219 replies`

**` I AM MARIAH CAREY` **  
`HANNIE OPPA MARRY ME PLEASE 5,291 likes, 482 replies`

**` bc97` **  
`lol changbin no wonder you said i wasnt your type ㅋㅋㅋㅋ 1,038 likes, 129 replies`

**` innie meenie miney mo` **  
`omg i am so stupid 903 likes, 64 replies`

**` wei wu xian is my hubby` **  
`yo yall forgot the breaks so i added them in myself ✨ 903 likes, 64 replies`

When they notice the comment from I AM MARIAH CAREY though, Jisung swears he sees steam gush out of his boyfriend’s ears. “Oh, guess what, Mariah Carey?” Changbin snarls. His fingers begin to fly across the keyboard faster than the Shinkansen. “Your little Hannie Oppa is _mine_ , you little high-pitched golden-curled 5 foot 8 inch-”

“-Yah, don’t slander Ms Carey like that!” Jisung screeches. He wrenches the mouse out of Changbin’s hand with a war cry. “Ms Mariah Carey does not deserve this hatred just because you’re shorter than her!”

“She wants to _marry_ you, Hannie!” Changbin screeches. “I am not letting that happen!”

“But she sings the best Christmas hits!” Jisung protests.

“But that means _I_ can’t marry you!”

A pin-drop silence ensues. Jisung stares back at Changbin with widened eyes. “You- No, wait, hyung, we’re financially unstable! And probably emotionally! Also, we’ve only been dating for two weeks! Surely, we can’t _marry_ -”

“-One day,” Changbin sputters. He grabs Jisung’s cheeks and squeezes them together. “One day, just… not now.” Jisung swears he sees tears gleaming in Changbin’s eyes. “Please don’t ditch me for Mariah Carey.”

Jisung sniffles. “Of course not, you big oaf.” He strokes Changbin’s hair softly with a half-grin. “God, we’re so stupid.”

“No, _you’re_ stupid.”

“And you’re stupider for being in love with stupid ‘ol me.”

Changbin purses his lips together thoughtfully. “Touche,” he says. He plants a wet kiss on Jisung’s cheek, which only makes him groan and accidentally kick Changbin in the crotch. They’re weirdly domestic, Jisung supposes, but that’s cool. They’re cool.

✷✷✷

About two months pass by, and they’re raking in more and more profits with every workout video they’re dropping. At the same time, the pandemic seems to be subsiding in Korea, which means more films and dramas are finally going underway with production and filming.

On a Sunday morning, Changbin decides to surprise Jisung with breakfast in bed, which isn’t too difficult. Jisung snores away until noon on the weekends, so really, the only difficult portion of the surprise that he has to tackle is the breakfast. He managed to burn the pancakes even after two tries, and he thinks he’s slathered on too much whipped cream, enough to give Jisung an instant cavity.

Still, he balances the plate of pancakes and a cup of orange juice on a metal tray, and strolls towards their bedroom. When he throws the door open, though, he hears a howl of pain erupt in his ears.

“Ow, what the fuck?!” Jisung wails, clutching onto his nose. Startled, Changbin drops the entire tray, and the pancakes flop down cream-first to the floor.

“Nooooo!” Changbin weeps. “My pancakes!”

Toeing the line between pain and confusion, Jisung glimpses down at the mess all over the floor. “Why were you making pancakes? Did a Michelin-star chef possess you or something?”

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed!” Changbin gripes. “And now it’s all ruined.”

He glances back up to see Jisung’s warm smile spread across his face. “Aw, our little Binnie tried his best to make breakfast for me, so cute!” he coos. Despite Changbin’s attempt to shove away the ghost of a smile tickling his lips, he feels his cheeks flush hot. “Anyways, I woke up early to tell you that we’re no longer jobless!”

“What?” Changbin stills. “We’re hired? By who?”

“By Director Lee,” Jisung replies. He tugs on Changbin’s sleeve, leading him towards their beds where his laptop is surrounded by a flurry of blankets. He tilts the screen towards Changbin and gestures at the email blinking back up at them.

`Dear Mr Han,`

`I have gone through your script, and I’m pleased to announce that my team is excited to take up your script for production. After some discussion with my partners, we would like to meet you to talk about the script and turning it into the screenplay for a drama.`

Changbin knits his eyebrows together, before a distant memory resurfaces in his mind. “Oh,” he says. “Is this the script you were working on recently?”

“Yup,” Jisung nods. The tips of his ears redden slightly. “He really liked the script! I can let you see it right now, actually.”

Curiosity simmers under Changbin’s skin, so he leaves the tray forgotten on the floor and snuggles up next to Jisung as he reads the final draft of the script displayed across his laptop screen.

`Lovesick Fool: The Art Of Falling In Love With A Superhero`

`Plot: Han Eunsang, a bumbling film student who finally enters the university of his dreams, becomes friends and roommates with a boy named Kim Beomseok. Little does he realise that Beomseok is a student by day, superhero by night, until an unexpected accident causes their lives to intertwine. Now stuck as his roommate’s superhero sidekick, Eunsang learns how to balance his film projects and his newfound feelings for the other, all the while trying to save his ass from supervillains and monsters he’s only ever heard of in his imagination.`

“This is actually really intriguing,” Changbin grins. He ruffles up Jisung’s hair tenderly, earning himself a contented hum. “How did you come up with the title?”

Jisung grinds his teeth. “Hyunjin,” he grits. His voice is curled up in anguish, and quite possibly disgust.

Not wanting to push the matter further, Changbin scrolls down the script, skimming the words with a small smile. “Since we’re finally getting out of this unemployment rut, what’ll happen to the channel?”

“I was thinking about it too,” Jisung replies. “Maybe we could turn it into a lifestyle channel.”

“And let them see how shabby our apartment is? No way,” Changbin snorts. “Think again.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Fine. I don’t really want to let go of the channel, though. We can keep it as a kind of side hustle! The more money, the better, right? Besides, our ban from IKEA might finally be lifted!”

“I don’t think anyone wants us to go back there,” Changbin hisses.

“We took our shoes off,” Jisung points out. “Surely there’s been less hygienic people doing nastier shit on the beds.”

As Jisung clicks over to the YouTube tab on Chrome, Changbin glazes over the header with a fond smile. They’ve racked up around 10,000 subscribers by now, with around 12 workout videos and a special QnA they did about two weeks ago. It’s crazy to think that he’s been in love with Han Jisung for the past five years, and all it took for the other to like him back was a home workout YouTube channel.

(“Technically, I fell in love with you when I smelled your awful breath,” Jisung corrected him. “But whatever.”)

As warmth begins to spill over his heart, Changbin tilts Jisung’s jaw up and meets him midway in a soft kiss. It’s innocent, sweet, even if Jisung’s morning breath tastes a little sour and stale. Jisung is inexperienced, but his overeagerness makes up for it as he sets the laptop down and swings a leg over Changbin’s waist. His cold hands grip onto the sides of his waist, and Changbin thinks he could die here happy in Jisung’s embrace.

Jisung hums against his lips. “Hm… are you somehow ridiculously raging hot today, or is that smoke I smell?”

Changbin’s eyelids fly open. “Oh, God.” He practically flings Jisung off of his lap before storming out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, only to see the fire from the stove licking away at a hand towel. The smoke rises out of the kitchen, wafting towards the doorway, and even after Changbin twists the knob off, a fire alarm begins to blare a blood curdling screech outside.

After a quick interrogation by their landlord and a barbarous glare from the cranky neighbour they’d woken up, the both of them slump down onto their couch with a sigh of relief. “Please don’t cook without me ever again,” Jisung mumbles.

“I can’t believe I almost burned down the kitchen today,” Changbin says, horrified out of his skin. “We could’ve died.”

“Yes, we could have.”

“I can’t believe I did that.”

“Well,” Jisung grins. His fingertip grazes Changbin’s chin and tilts it towards him. “If it’s any consolation, you do look pretty hot today.”

Changbin groans. “Thank you for the surge of confidence, Sungie, but that doesn’t make my cooking skills any better.”

Jisung chuckles. “Not like you’re ever going to try and be better at cooking.”

“Touche.” Ever the most careful of men, Changbin’s pinky finger creeps along the couch and lightly scrapes against Jisung’s. Their fingers curl around each other quietly, like a secret being traded, as Jisung leans his head against Changbin’s broad shoulder and sighs.

“I heard they’re airing another shitty drama,” Jisung says, nodding at the television staring blankly back at them. “Wanna microwave some popcorn and watch it?”

The thing is, Changbin has never been able to say no to Jisung. He couldn’t say no to Jisung’s preposterous idea of setting up a YouTube channel, he couldn’t say no to Jisung’s half-baked offer to dye his hair pink, and he still can’t say no to Jisung’s inane obsession with binge-watching badly written dramas with the worst filmed sex scenes and the craziest punchlines ever.

The thing is, Changbin has always been in love with Jisung, bright eyes and not-so-genius plans and all. Sure, it took five years to get to where they are now, but as they lean against each other sharing a bowl of greasy caramel popcorn while grimacing at the sloppy kisses the onscreen characters share, he honestly can’t have this love any other way.

**Author's Note:**

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